A Good Day to Die
by Tevrah
Summary: Companion to "Treasure of the Nation." A rewrite of S2xE12. Robin is in a situation he isn't sure he will survive, Marian makes a daring move to try and save the king, Allan has a life-changing decision to make, and a familiar character is introduced. R/M


The hooded figure relaxed in the shadows of the church. It was not a difficult task as the old stone building, built even before Nottingham Castle, was filled with disappearing corners and unknown holes. The large, open room with its looming stained windows and arching entrances made every movement the hard task. Echoes carried from ceiling to floor and round in circles. Each step must be light, each breath must be silent, each shift must be invisible.

The good Father was finishing his sermon for the day, his deep voice teaching forgiveness, faith, and freedom through Christ. He raised the golden chalice to the ceiling, the sunlight straining through the stained window behind him turning the gold into an arena of colors.

"Unto God we are granted life, and unto him we offer our lives in return." He drank deep. "Amen."

The congregation, filled with glittering jewels and fine silk of the upper class, echoed his prayer and crossed themselves. The figure waited patiently as the privileged finished with their hollow piety and began to file out of the church. Clatters of coins tinged against the gold offering plate held by one of the boys standing by the door. The pretense would not be complete without an act of giving, of course.

The figure slipped from the shadows and took one of the vacated seats at the front of the church. It didn't take long before the church grew silent again, the nobles willing to hasten their departure lest God strike them down for their unchristian thoughts. The boy rushed up the aisle, the coins rattling in the plate with each jarring step. His face was young and fresh and clean, an unusual occurrence for any child who did not grow up with wealth. The church provided well for the people in their service, even if that, too, was a hollow gesture.

The priest dipped the plate to let the coins slide into the plain wooden box that would help to feed the poor.

"That's a good lad," he said as he placed the plate beside the box. "Be on your way now."

The boy nearly tripped over his own feet as he fled toward freedom. The priest ambled over to the figure and sat down, his stout girth causing him to sigh with the exertion. "These old bones of mine," he said. "They like to preach at me more than any bishop I've ever heard."

The figure remained silent, but slipped a small, corded bag into his hand. He could feel the hard press of coins and sighed.

"You've been coming here for six weeks now," he said. "I forgive you for stealing my horse."

The figure finally turned toward him and bright brown eyes twinkled from under the hood. "Perhaps I come to see you." The voice was soft, cultured, and undeniably female. "After all, Brother Tuck, how can I seek absolution if you refuse to offer it to me?"

Tuck shifted on the hard pew. "You explained the circumstances. It was an emergency. God understands emergencies."

This time she laughed. "You are a most unusual priest."

Tuck shrugged. It was true. He weighed the bag in his hand. "The people of Nottingham thank you for your donation, though why you don't just give this to them yourself is beyond me, Lady Marian."

She folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head so that a brown curl, the same rich color as her eyes, tumbled out. "This serves the same purpose. I know you will get the money where it needs to go, and I do enjoy doing something that is legal."

"You should not take the chance," he insisted. "You are the second most wanted outlaw in the shire, perhaps in England. The sheriff has a standing warrant for you—dead or alive."

She sighed and turned her head toward the looming crucifix behind the alter where Tuck gave his sermons. "I did not plan on being an outlaw, you know."

"I doubt anyone ever does, my dear." He joined in her study of the crucifix. "I do not believe God will hold your willingness to help his children against you. He is to be feared, but he is a loving God first and foremost. You need not worry for your immortal soul."

Her lips curved. "Is that what I'm worried about?"

"Otherwise you would not have bothered spending six weeks doing a penance of your own scheme for stealing a horse that you returned."

"Perhaps that is why I first started coming, but now," she trailed off.

"Now?" he prompted.

She seemed to wrestle with her thoughts, trying to find the right words. "In the forest I can be myself, which is more than I can say about any place I've lived before, but it's always about where to hide, how to blend in, how to disappear. There never seems to be a moment to just think of anything other than surviving. Here…here, I can find quiet, a second of silence. This is the first church I've ever been in that I don't feel guilty for my thoughts, for being who I am."

Tuck was quiet. "It's not really the here or the there, is it? It's the peace. You must find the balance of who you used to be, who you were raised to be, and who you have become." He laid a comforting hand on her clenched ones. "God does not make mistakes. His design is great which is why man tends to get lost every now and then, but you will eventually find yourself exactly where you should be. Where God designed you to be. But it's up to you to find the peace to accept it."

She slowly unfurled her fists and nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, father."

"Would you like for me to pray with you?" he offered, and at her nod, bowed his head with hers.

He let the words flow out of him as they had hundreds of times before, but his heart moved when he heard her faint sniff as he finished. She was a dear girl, and Brother Tuck was certain that God had put him in her path with three horses for her to choose from. He supposed that sometimes the Great Father wanted to make sure His point was understood, even if He had to knock you down in the process.

"I did have another reason for coming today," she said as she wiped at her eyes. "I've come to invite you to a party in Nettlestone, if you don't mind continuing your association with outlaws."

He rubbed his hands together, his first thought to the food. "Will there be roasted lamb?"

She laughed. "Afraid not, but I've heard that there will be a roasted pig and bread and mead for everyone who attends."

His stomach urged his mind to agree. "And what is the occasion, I might ask?"

"Robin Hood's birthday."

"Ah," he said knowingly. "Your outlaw sweetheart."

"And what makes you think he's my sweetheart?" Marian questioned.

"Do you think I was born in clergy robes? I know how a tone of voice changes when you speak of someone you love."

"I do love him," she confided. "When he left for war, I thought he abandoned me, that he didn't love me enough to stay, to choose me over glory. Now, I understand that choices, though they are ours to make, are hardly ever simple. I believed I didn't love him anymore, and then there he was, as annoying as ever and twice as stubborn."

"The ones that stick with us are the ones that last until death," Tuck said and patted her arm. "Does it help you on your journey for peace to know that he is with you?"

She nodded. "I think it does."

Bells echoed and rumbled from the top of the tower. He lumbered to his feet and set the bag of coins beside the collections box. "I shall make my way toward Nettlestone as soon as confessions are finished. I look forward to finally meeting this Robin Hood of yours."

"He'll enjoy meeting you, as well." She stood and backed slowly into the shadows again until she seemed to blend in with the very foundation.

"Go with God, my child," he said, but knew that she was already gone.

ooOoo

Robin felt his stomach clench as the mounted riders circled the barn. "How many?" he yelled.

"Thirty—no, forty over here," Will called from the loft. "They're spreading out, and more's coming from the south!"

"I see at least thirty from the east," D'jaq added from the back of the barn. She rushed to Robin, her breath coming rapidly. "There is a hundred, maybe more. We have no way to escape."

"What do we do?" Will asked, his axe in his hands.

"This was supposed to be a joyous occasion," Much shouted as he pulled at his cap and paced back and forth. "A celebration and a feast." He kicked the broken wheel of an old wagon that now served as a place to store hay. "Ouch! I hate this! I hate this barn! I hate this wagon! And I hate Nettlestone! They'll be getting nothing this winter, mark my words!"

"Much!" Robin shouted. "Let me think!"

"This is not my fault," Much countered and whirled in a circle to look at everyone. "This is not my fault."

"You never should have brought us here," Will argued, his fear and anger needing a target. "We should have had it in the forest, then we wouldn't be in this mess."

Much leapt forward, but Robin's sharp command made him stop.

"We need to think," Robin said. "Fighting each other isn't going to get us out of here."

Much turned in another circle, panic still trying to wrestle for control against the innate need to follow Robin's orders. "Marian!" he said suddenly and turned back to Robin. "Marian will come, she will see what is going on, and she will-," he stopped.

"She'll see that there's no way in or out," Will snapped. "She won't be able to do anything."

Much floundered. "Well, still, she—surely, she could—," he stopped again and turned blankly to Robin. "Master?"

Robin knew without thinking what Marian would do. She would charge into danger if it meant saving lives, if it meant that she could help them. And she would get caught. If she got caught, he'd wrap the noose around his own neck to keep her from getting hurt. He turned back to watching the mercenaries getting ready to kill them through the cracks in the wood and kept silent.

He prayed that Marian wouldn't come.

ooOoo

Marian hunched over as she walked through the tight market. People thronged around merchants' stalls, what little there were, to admire and touch the pretty colored silks and gaudy jewels that could tempt the smallest child to stare at the fat stones or the white-haired woman wishing to add to her collection. Being that it was Sunday, and the church had decreed it a day of rest, it was the perfect time to shop. After all, hadn't they just given money to the church? Their charitable act was done, so now they could think about themselves.

Marian jostled through the crowd, threaded past ladies and lords that she had once spoken to. Lady Penelope was being overcharged for an awful, sickly green necklace that couldn't have cost half of what she was handing over, but she would pay the highest price so she could brag to her friends about how much money she and her husband had.

Marian was tempted to "accidently" shove the woman into the pickpocket who was wading through the crowd, his quick hands grabbing purses as he went. Only her recent exit from the church prevented her from acting on the impulse. God may forgive her for stealing a horse in an emergency, but she doubted He would be as lenient for intentional cruelty.

She was two stalls down when she saw them. The rings were simple, and nearly buried beneath the shine of the fancier jewels, but her eyes continued to be drawn to them. A string, also simple, tied them together so they wouldn't get separated. A man stepped in front of her and obscured her view. She tried to sidestep and ended up being pushed into his back. With her head down, she stuttered out an apology to his angry explicit.

When he huffed off, she stepped to the stall and traced the rings with her gloved fingers. They were surely made for peasants, their silver not as glossy as rings of higher quality, the lacking of design which made them unassuming bands that neither caught attention nor was expected to. As she picked up the rings, a heavy hand grabbed her wrist.

"No handling the merchandise unless you have coin," a hard voice ordered. "Now show me the money or move along."

She tapped the patchwork purse hanging from her belt with her free hand, and he released her.

"In that case, I've got much better than those if you be looking for a ring," he began and pulled out a long thin piece of wood that was decorated with rings of various sizes and colors.

Marian held up the rings in her hand. "How much?"

The merchant considered and then threw out a price that she knew he was trying to overcharge her with. She shook her head and countered with a much lower offer. He grabbed for the rings and she snatched them back.

"Perhaps you think you will get a better deal for them today," she said quietly. "But if I were to go to the sheriff and report that you were overcharging him for a present he sent me to buy, do you think you'll have the chance for a better offer?"

The merchant shook his hands in a gesture for peace. "Hold on, now. You didn't say it was for the sheriff. Of course, he'll get a fair deal. There's no need to involve him. No need a'tall."

Marian supposed she should have felt bad for frightening the man, but he was a bully, and she had little qualms about tricking him. She handed him the lower payment, tucked the rings in her purse, and slipped back into the crowd. She was running late for the party, but she hadn't planned on spinning so much time at the church or shopping.

She felt a twinge of doubt as she considered if Robin would think her gift too forward. After all, she realized that men preferred to buy the rings, but he had proposed over a grave by comparing her to a weapon, so she supposed he wouldn't mind. They were hardly ever conventional about such matters. The rings suited them, she decided. Simple, sturdy, and connected.

The crowd began to part as a man hurried through them, his long braids trailing behind him as he shoved through the people. She tucked herself between a stall and an alley and waited for him to pass. She knew him. He was a mercenary that the sheriff and Gisbourne had brought into Locksley. He was one of the men hired to kill the king. She bit her lip in consideration. Was he worth following?

"Have you heard?"

Marian's head tipped to the conversation being whispered at the stall beside her.

"They're saying they caught Robin Hood! They have him trapped in Nettlestone with no way to get out. They're going to kill him."

Marian stopped breathing.  
>"That's a bloody shame," another voice replied. "But it was bound to happen. Nobody goes against the sheriff and wins. Nobody."<p>

Marian rushed back into the crowd and ran after the mercenary. She couldn't see him anymore, but she knew he would be going to the castle. She had to find out what was going on so she could help Robin and the others.

She ducked into alleys and used the roofs when she could to get to the castle as fast as possible. She was out of breath by the time the portcullis came into view. She had a flashback of fleeing through the very same gate over a month before, trying to find a way out. Now she was desperately looking for a way in. There were doubled guards and archers that walked the wall and towers every hour. The sheriff was taking no more chances of outlaws getting inside the castle. Not that it was going to work.

There was only one way she could think to get into the castle now that most of the entrances were cut off. She would have to belong, and nothing said belonging like a guard.

It took over an hour before she was walking into the castle courtyard, ramrod straight and already sweating under the heavy chainmail. The guards were much more cautious now, and it seemed to take forever before she found one that she could corner. As it was, the armor was built for a much larger man, and the tucked straw she was using for the illusion of added weight was imbedding itself into her body like bugs crawling across her skin.

The courtyard was teaming with activity, soldiers marching back and forth, servants bustling from the side entrance to a large carriage positioned directly in the middle of the stone square. Marian tried not to pay too much attention to it, but the sheriff's embossed seal blazed at her and another layer of misgivings combined with her churning nerves as she watched bags of food, coin, and weapons being piled in the luggage store on top. Just what was the sheriff up to now?

After being confined to the castle for almost a year, and practically living there as a child when her father had been sheriff, she would wager money that she knew the castle better than anyone who called it home now. She drifted down the corridors of power with ease, fervently trying to resist the urge to scratch her skin off. The war room was in the north wing, near the sheriff's quarters, and sure to be guarded just as fiercely as the gate. She would need more of a strategy than simply looking the part.

She turned the corner and nearly plowed into the sheriff and Gisbourne. She bowed quickly and lowered her voice. "Sorry, milord."

"Watch where you're going, you half-wit buffoon," the sheriff snapped and walked past her as if she didn't exist.

Her heart starting beating again, and walking a little ways forward, she slipped into the shadows. Craning her neck, she saw that the two men were headed back the way she came, to the courtyard. Trying to muffle the echo of her oversized boots, she hurried after them. When they stopped on the top step, she shoved herself against one of the stone pillars and strained to hear.

"Everything in place?" the sheriff asked, motioning toward the carriage.

Gisbourne crossed his arms and nodded. "Yes, my lord. We should have enough supplies for the trip there and back."

"Good. Very good." The sheriff took another step down and Marian eased forward as much as she dared. "And your boy," he continued. "Does he know the plan?"

"I told him we were going to Portsmouth, but nothing beyond that."

"And do you think he'll have the stomach for it?" The sheriff inquired, his tongue playing with his fake tooth.

Gisbourne moved to stand beside the sheriff. "I assure you, my lord, he understands that this is his road to power. He can take it."

"Well," the sheriff slapped Gisbourne's leather-clad chest with the back of his hand. "I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?" He made a move to continue into the square.

"My lord," Gisbourne said. "Do you think it wise to leave Hood?"

"Want to kiss him goodbye, Gisbourne?"

Gisbourne's back stiffened. "Hood has escaped many times before. Would it not be simpler to just get it over with and kill them all now?"

The sheriff stepped closer, his face invading Gisbourne's. "I want Hood's body hanging from my wall for everyone to see. I want it unharmed. I want it pristine. I will be the victor in this little game of ours, and I am going to look out of my bedroom window everyday and smile when I see his rotting corpse flying in the breeze. There is over a hundred mercenaries surrounding that barn, Gisbourne, and they will deliver him as I have ordered. Do you understand?"

Gisbourne, leaning back as far as he dared, nodded.

The sheriff smiled and stepped back. "Good. Now, I'm going to bask in my war room. This convoy will be ready to leave in two hours. No later." He left Gisbourne standing on the stone steps, wiping at the spittle on his cheek.

Marian let her body rest against the pillar as she fought to get her mind under control. They were going to kill the king. She knew it. The carriage was being outfitted for traitors to travel in.

She had to get to Robin. And then they would end this once and for all.

But first, she had to kill the sheriff.

ooOoo

The food didn't have a taste, but Robin continued to chew it slowly and with great determination. After all, it was his idea to eat, to celebrate, and his men would only do that if he led by example.

His movements were measured, but his mind was all over the place. How were they going to get out of this one? Outnumbered twenty to one, in a highly disadvantaged location, no supplies, no weapons save the ones they carried on their backs, and being morally defeated by the constant shouts ringing in from all sides.

"It's quite good," Much offered quietly, and glanced around the table. "Don't you think?"

No one answered him.

"I'm just saying—"

"Shut up, Much," Will said half-heartedly as he used his spoon to turn his food into mush.

"Well, I just wanted—"

"Much!" John warned and glared at the man.

Much opened his mouth to speak, but a huff of breath was all that came out as he slammed his spoon down, snatched his wine and drank deep.

"Where are my presents?" Robin asked before the drink gave Much the courage he needed to start an argument.

Much spluttered into his cup as everyone's heads jerked in Robin's direction. "What?" Robin asked, carefully setting his fork down. "I get a feast, but no presents? Now, D'jaq's present was quite the surprise and made an impression. It's everyone else's turn. John?"

John lifted his big body from the bench and walked to the far corner. He carried a cloth bag to Robin and stepped back for Robin to open it. He could tell that John wrapped it because it employed vines in the place of strings and had no rhyme or reason, the cloth merely serving its assigned role to keep the present clean and presentable. The package was heavy and hard to the touch.

He made quick work of unwrapping it and took a moment to stare at the gift before raising his eyes to John's. "Thank you, John," he said politely and shifted the rather large piece of firewood in his hands. "This always comes in handy."

John rolled his eyes. "It's from _primum lignum_."

Robin's brow creased. "What's that?"

"Some people say that it was the first tree that grew in Sherwood," Will answered and stepped forward to touch the wood with almost reverence. "When the clergy first started traveling through these parts, trying to convert the non-Christians, they would stop and rest under the tree because it offered shade and protection. And when they'd leave, they would bless the tree to thank God for putting it there for them. Hundreds of years later, the trees of Sherwood stood tall, and many thought that it grew as large as it did because of the priests' blessings. So, they named it primum lignum, or first tree."

"It's an old woodsmen's tale," John added quietly. "I thought you could carve your arrows from it, and they'd be blessed."

Robin gazed at the gift with new eyes. "John. I don't know what to say. Thank you, my friend." He got to his feet and wrapped his arms around the big man. John nodded and moved back for someone else to have a turn.

Will held out a small square item. "I didn't have time to wrap it," he confessed. "Took longer than I thought it would."

It was two square wood pieces, one on top of the other, hardly bigger than Robin's palm. There was a piece of metal seared into the sides of the wood, connecting them. Robin gently opened the pieces wide and stared at Marian. The carving of her was so lifelike he thought he could almost touch her skin as he slid his thumb across her cheek. She was smiling, her hair curled around her shoulders, her eyes, even through the carving, bright and alive. His face graced the other section of wood, his hair tousled, his smile wide, and his bow across his back.

Robin's throat was raw. This was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He hugged Will, the gift tight in his hand. "This is amazing," he said, clasping Will's shoulder. "And I know that Marian will love it, as well."

He gently rubbed the pad of his thumb over Marian's image once more before setting the present beside John's. He turned to Much expectantly.

"I didn't know it was supposed to be made of wood," Much muttered, shifting the gift in his hands.

Robin held out his hand expectantly, and with a grumble, Much turned it over. It was a pretty package, care given to make certain the wrapping was attractive with bright ribbons and smooth cloth. Robin unlaced each bow as slowly as possible, mostly to see Much squirm, but to also pay heed to what his friend had done. A neatly folded cloak was nestled underneath.

Robin held it up to admire it. The inner lining was soft deerskin, brown like the forest floor. The outer lining was a mixture of green, brown, and black, all of the colors needed for a woodsman, or an outlaw living in Sherwood. The hood was a dark green that matched the colors of the leaves in springtime, and it tied together with two thick throngs of brown leather.

Much was nervously worrying his hands and shifting from foot to foot. "Well, I just thought, as your cloak is getting a bit threadbare, you could use something new."

Robin said nothing.

"You hate it don't you," Much wailed. "I knew it. I knew it." He tried to snatch the cloak from Robin so he could hide it. "I'll get you something else. I—"

Robin wrapped an arm around Much's shoulders. "This was just what I needed. Stop worrying. It's perfect. Thank you, Much."

Much smiled timidly. "Really?"

Robin nodded and lifted the cloak to admire it again. "Really."

Much sucked in a breath to tell the story of how he made it, but a shout from outside had everyone looking at the barricaded barn door to see if this was the moment that they would have to fight for their lives.

Their piece of merriment was gone. Now they were back to surviving.

ooOoo

Marian tried everything she could think of to get into the war room, but there was no sneaky way to gain access. The door was locked from the inside and there were two guards posted at the door. The only thing that could possibly help her was if she had a key. Only higher up castle personnel were allowed keys, and if one of them went missing for too long, then the plan wouldn't work anyway. Except for maybe one way. She felt her lips curve in satisfaction.

Allan.

She caught sight of him nearly twenty minutes later as he cruised past the kitchens, an apple in his hand. She waited until he was just far enough past before she rushed him and pushed him into the open pantry. It was dusky and smelled of fresh bread and raw meat.

"What're you on abou—"

She unclasped the face guard. "It's me," she whispered quickly, looking to see if anyone heard his outburst.

He groaned and pulled at his hair. "No," he said. "No way. Are you out of your mind? The sheriff wants you dead, and Gisbourne, well, let's just say that thoughts of you still keep him up at night, but this time they involve blood and screams."

"Do you know what's going on?" she asked abruptly.

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about the lads, but there's nothing I can do, nothing you can do. They're surrounded with no way out."

"And the sheriff decides to take a trip on the day that he supposedly kills Robin?" Marian asked with an air of disbelief.

"It's business," Allan said. "Probably a Black Knights meeting, as Robin tends to interrupt the ones here."

Marian shook her head and grabbed his shoulders. "He's going to the Holy Land to try and kill the king."

Allan stared at her for a second before wrenching out of her grip. "You're losing it, Marian. It's just a quick trip, honest. Not even any guards—just me, Gisbourne, and the sheriff."

Marian clenched her fists. "If you go along with treason, then you are also committing treason."

Allan scoffed. "Rubbish. If you go along with farting, it doesn't mean you farted."

She wanted to strangle him for being so dense.

He held up his hands in a placating manner. "Look, Marian, I'm telling you. We're just going to Portsmouth. You should be concentrating on saving Robin, if you can." He took a bite of apple and walked past her. "You don't know what you're talking about. Don't make the mistake of getting in over your head."

She grabbed his arm, whirled him around, and punched him. He tumbled to the floor almost gracefully, the apple rolling to the far end of the pantry.

"No," she whispered. "That mistake is yours."

She snatched the keys from his belt and covered his body with a dank cloth. As long as nobody tripped over him, this would grant her a little time. The trip back to the war room was a frantic one. She imagined every soldier that passed looked at her with suspicion, and the walls and floor made her footsteps louder with each step she took. Let this work, she chanted in her mind. Let this work, let this work.

She stopped before the two guards. "Sir Guy demands every able bodied man in the courtyard. They've killed Robin Hood and are bringing his body in. The townspeople are getting out of control."

The two men didn't even question her and took off running. She waited five beats before she stepped to the door, slid the key into the lock, and turned it. In her mind, it seemed like a thundering _snick_ resounded through the entire castle as the locked moved. She held her breath and waited another beat, but no soldiers came rushing down the hall and the sheriff didn't appear.

She drew her sword and opened the door.

ooOoo

The shackles cut into her skin, but there was nothing to do about it, so Marian tried to think of something else. How could she have been so stupid? Getting caught by the sheriff, being taken prisoner, and now shackled to a stable wall. And what had she accomplished? She didn't kill the sheriff, she didn't stop their trip to the Holy Land, and she didn't save Robin.

She sighed and shifted on the bed of hay. Admittedly, her body had been weighed down by the armor, which made her movements and reactions slow. And sweat had been in her eyes from the oppressive chainmail and helmet. But still. She was the Nightwatchman, for God's sake. She had fought better men than the sheriff and won.

One of the horses nickered in its sleep, and she rested against the cold wall behind her. Robin would find her, that she knew. But was he even alive? Had he passed from the world, and she failed in completing their mission? Don't think like that, she scolded herself. This is Robin Hood. The Golden Archer. The Prince of Outlaws.

A man of flesh and blood.

She willed the tears away. Whether Robin was alive or not, she was still breathing, which meant England still had a chance. She would make sure of it.

The stable door creaked open, and Marian closed her eyes briefly, already knowing who it was. Guy leaned against the wall, studying her, his face hard, his eyes cold. She stared back without flinching. He would not break her. He wasn't big enough.

He sniffed. "So, do some shopping lately?"

Her brows lowered in confusion. That was definitely not what she was expecting.

He held out his hand, and even in the soft moonlight, she could see what he held. The rings that had been in her purse. The simple, beautiful rings that she bought for her and Robin. Their wedding rings. She stared at them for a long moment, fear curling in her blood.

"What?" Guy asked softly. "Nothing to say? Surely, you have some explanation ready. You always have before, and such convincing stories, too."

"They're for my wedding." It slipped out of her before she realized she said it, but as she finally looked at him, and saw the stunned shock on his face at her statement, she knew it was time to tell him the truth.

"I'm marrying Robin Hood," she said simply. "I was always going to marry Robin. I love him." She smiled now, the rightness of her confession flowing through her. She sat forward as far as the chains would allow so he could see her face, her eyes, as she spoke. "I. Love. Robin. Hood."

"_No!"_ He threw the rings and was on her. She struggled furiously as his fist landed on her body, but there was little she could do. Still, she fought, used her teeth, used her knees, and screamed. Then he was strangling her, choking the very life from her. She tried to grab his hands, but the chain had twisted in their struggle and she couldn't lift it from under her body. The world was starting to get darker, and she looked into his eyes as he killed her. He wanted her to die, and he was crying. Little drops landed on her cheeks, but he never loosened his grip.

She thought of Robin, and finally let go.

ooOoo

She wouldn't wake up. He shook her, called her name, threw water on her face, but still she didn't move.

Allan lifted Marian's still body into his lap and rocked her. "Come on," he whispered without realizing that he was repeating it. "Come on, come on, come on. Please. Please, Marian!"

For as long as he lived, he would never forget hearing a woman's scream, and the deep feeling of certainty and dread as he raced to the stables only to find Guy weeping over Marian's bloodied form. Even after he pulled Gisbourne off of her, all Guy did was run off, not able to face what he had done. No, that was for Allan to do.

He should have known that Gisbourne would have figured out Marian's connection to Robin sooner or later. He should have—what? What should he have done? What could he have done? He meant it when he told Marian all those months ago that he was fighting for his life. He just never dreamed that Marian would lose hers in the process.

He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her hair, still rocking her, as his mother used to do for him when he was sick. It was when his first tear fell, that he heard it. A hoarse groan, a pitiful whimper, and "Robin."

He laughed in relief, in joy, in the absolute absurdity of the situation he was in. He cupped her face. "Come on, Marian," he urged. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes so I'll know I'm not crazy."

Her lids fluttered, paused, and then slowly opened. "Robin?"

He shushed her and laid her gently down on the hay. "No. It's Allan. You're hurt pretty bad, Marian. I'm going to get some water and bandages, all right? Don't move around and don't try to speak. Just keep breathing until I get back."

He ran to the carriage parked outside the stables, climbed to the top, and shoved bags around until he found the medical supplies. Tucking that under his arm, he raced to the well behind the tavern. When he got back to her, the first thing he did was call her name. Her eyes were closed again and he was afraid that he dreamt her coming back to life. But at his panicked shout, her eyes opened once more.

He unpacked the supplies and relied on his observations of D'jaq as to what to do first. "Don't hit me or nothing, but I gotta feel for broken bones." He lightly slid his hands across her legs, arms, midsection. When she groaned, he took a deep breath. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you never tell Robin about this." He made a slit in the middle of her dress and cut out just enough material so he could inspect the damage. Her stomach was blue and red. He pressed two fingers on the darkest spot and she jerked. He laid a hand on her forehead to keep her still. "I know it hurts, Marian, but I gotta see how bad it is."

Her eyes latched onto his, and he saw pain, fear, and recognition swirling in them. "Allan," she croaked, the dried blood around her mouth cracking with the movement.

He nodded. "That's right. Now hold still."

He took his time, not wanting to miss anything or make anything worse. He tried to talk to her as much as possible, wanting to keep her awake. There was a bump on the back of her head, probably from when Gisbourne had thrown her down, and he didn't want to risk her going to sleep and not waking up. He'd known men to suffer the same wound and still die.

Thankfully, he didn't feel any broken bones, but it looked like she had a few bruised ribs, the bump on her head, bruises, bloody knuckles, a split lip, a scratched up face, bloodied wrists from straining against the shackles, and two large handprints circling her throat.

"Robin."

He sighed and finished cleaning her face. "I'm not being funny, you can keep saying his name as much as you want," he told her, "but he's currently surrounded by a mob of mercenaries in a barn in Nettlestone."

She grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong, her eyes very much alert. "Go."

He dropped the bloodied rag into the water bucket. "What? Go where?"

He watched as she tried to catch her breath so she could say more than one word at a time.

"Go back," she managed. "Save Robin. Save the king."

He groaned in frustration. "You're not still going on about that, are you? Look, Marian, I don't think you get it. I betrayed them. I messed up, and there's no going back for me now, even if I wanted to. This is who I am now. This is where I belong."

She gripped his wrist again. "If you're so hard, then why save me?"

He looked away from her.

"You're a good man, Allan. Just this morning, someone told me that God doesn't make mistakes, that he has a design for everyone. Sometimes people get lost because the design is so big."

He watched her face contort in agony as she spoke, tears slipping out of her strained eyes. Her throat must have been on fire, but still she spoke.  
>"But they always find themselves where they were designed to be. You were designed to be one of Robin's merry men." She managed a smile. "You are meant to be in Sherwood."<p>

She collapsed with the effort, her chest moving rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.

He wringed out the rag and wiped her face again to clean it of tears. "How would they ever take me back?" he whispered.

She turned her gaze to his and smiled again. This time she didn't need to say anything aloud.

Go back. Save Robin. Save the king.

Save yourself.

ooOoo

The pain kept her awake for a long time. Allan should be well on his way to Nettlestone. For some reason, she had absolute faith that he would find his way there, that he would get to the others. She swallowed and flinched as the saliva left a burning trail in its wake. She wondered if the sheriff would just decide to leave her, or maybe he would think she was dead.

A stab of pain pierced through her again and she clenched her sore teeth together to ride it out. Allan did all he could for her, and she was grateful, but tomorrow, regardless of the sheriff's reaction, was going to be nothing but hell.

She tried closing her eyes again and concentrated on going away somewhere, going to a place where the pain couldn't reach her.

She was sitting under a tall oak in the fields of Knighton, the smell of lavender floating on the breeze. A slender arm, already developing muscles from archery and fencing practice, draped around her shoulder and pulled her against a warm body. She could smell him, that lingering scent of woods and sun. She was fourteen, he was fifteen, and as they sat under the shelter of the sweetheart tree, life was perfect.

She drifted off to the sound of his laughter.

ooOoo

I hope everyone has enjoyed my rendition of "A Good Day to Die." As you noticed, I didn't really have a lot of Robin in this one, simply because I didn't think the barn sequence needed to change. Just the rest of it. Also, I realize that I spent the majority of the time in Marian's POV, but she really wasn't a fleshed out character, and I thought that her mind would be a nice place to explore.

I hope to continue with "We Are Robin Hood" as soon as I can, but again, school can be hard.

Please, be sure to leave a review with a comment or a criticism, even if it's just one word, so I can get a measure on how well the story is coming across. I try to stay in character, but sometimes it goes astray.

Thanks, and I hope to talk to you again soon.


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